Genesis (The Really Big One)
by zeaoconstantine
Summary: Crowley figured that 'The Big One', the final battle to decide the fate of the Earth would be Heaven and Hell verses the Human population. Not only was he terribly wrong, but there is much that no one knows about the world. Save for two people. God and Satan themselves. Aziraphale and Crowley are really deep in it this time. A/C
1. Prologue (Or Rather, a Recent End)

Please allow me a moment to digress. Perhaps more than a moment. Hardly any of this has anything to do with whomever is reading this, so feel free to skip over it. However, just know that it is important to me. So, if you do decide to continue reading this, please try to understand what I'm saying as if I'm actually sitting across from you struggling to find the words to say this as it would deserve to be said.

It has been my experience so far that if a piece of literature or film is particularly wonderful or fascinating, there is a certain reason for it. The first reason is usually for books and it comes in the form of the dedication. If a book is excellent, check to see who the story has been dedicated to. You may understand a great deal more after. The second reason usually goes to the stories we hear orally or from films. There is a lesson or a message that screams to be heard because it has been otherwise ignored, and the point of the literature is to get the message out there because it's something that people need to hear. The third reason can apply to anything. The reason being that there is a confession in there somewhere. Somehow it's a secret that's been kept, but it's now a secret too big to keep or it's a secret too close to the soul to be told to those closest to you; so the easiest way to tell it is through inputting words into a computer and hoping someone out there will understand.

The point of all of that is to explain something to you, dear reader. Yes, you. Whatever you are doing, wherever you are, male or female. This is a confession. By no means am I calling this little bored-in-Physics project an epic piece of film or literature, but this has all three reasons for it to be, and so I hope it is. This has a dedication, a message, and a confession. But the confession is most important. Therefore, I will explain it all at the end.

Thank you for reading. Seriously. You don't know how much it means.

* * *

**Prologue: (Rather, one of Good Omens' end parts.)**

It was Sunday, the first day of the rest of the world, around eleven-thirty.

St. James' park was comparatively quiet. The ducks, who were experts in _realpolitik_ as seen from the bread end, put it down to a decrease in world tension. There really had been a decrease in world tension, in fact, but a lot of people were in offices trying to find out why, trying to find out where Atlantis had disappeared to with three international fact-finding delegations on it, and trying to work out what happened to all their computers yesterday.

The park was deserted except for one member of M19 trying to recruit someone who, to their later mutual embarrassment, would turn out also to be a member of M19, and a tall man feeding the ducks.

And there were also Crowley and Aziraphale.

They strolled side by side across the grass.

"Same here," said Aziraphale, "The shop's all there. Not so much as a soot mark."

"I mean, you can't just _make_ an old Bentley," said Crowley. "You can't get the patina. But there it was, large as life. Right there in the street. You can't tell the difference."

"Well _I _can tell the difference," said Aziraphale. "I'm sure I didn't stock books with titles like _Biggles Goes to Mars_ and _Jack Cade, Frontier Hero_ and _101 Things a Boy Can Do_ and _Blood Dogs of the Skull Sea_.

"Gosh, I'm sorry," said Crowley, who knew how much the angel had treasured his book collection.

"Don't be," said Aziraphale happily. "They're all mint first editions and I looked them up in Skindle's Price Guide. I think the phrase you use is _whoo-eee_."

"I thought he was putting the world back just as it was," said Crowley.

"Yes," said Aziraphale. "More or less. As best he can. But he's got a sense of humour, too."

Crowley gave him a sideways look.

"Your people been in touch?"

"No. Yours?"

"No."

"I think they're pretending it didn't happen."

"Mine too, I suppose. That's bureaucracy for you."

"And I think mine are waiting to see what happens next," said Aziraphale.

Crowley nodded. "A breathing space," he said. "A chance to morally re-arm. Get the defences up. Ready for the big one."

They stood by the pond, watching the ducks scrabble for the bread.

"Sorry," said Aziraphale. "I thought that _was_ the big one."

"I'm not sure," said Crowley. "For my money, the really big one will be all of Us against all of Them."

"What? You mean Heaven and Hell against Humanity?"

Crowley shrugged. "Of course, if he _did_ change everything, then maybe he changed himself, too. Got rid of his powers, perhaps. Decided to stay human."

"Oh, I do hope so," said Aziraphale. "Anyway, I'm sure the alternative wouldn't be allowed. Er. Would it?"

"I don't know. You can never be certain about what's really intended. Plans within plans."

"Sorry?" said Aziraphale.

"Well," said Crowley, who'd been thinking about this until his head ached, "haven't you ever wondered about it all? You know- your people and my people, Heaven and Hell, good and evil, all that sort of thing? I mean, _why_?"

"As I recall," said the angel, stiffly, "there was the rebellion and-"

"Ah, yes. And why did it _happen_, eh? I mean, it didn't have to, did it?" said Crowley, a maniac look in his eye. "Anyone who could build a universe in six days isn't going to let a little thing like that happen. Unless they want it to, of course."

"Oh, come on. Be sensible," said Aziraphale, doubtfully.

"That's not good advice," said Crowley. "That's not good advice at all. If you sit down and think about it _sensibly_, you come up with some very funny ideas. Like: why make people inquisitive, and then put some forbidden fruit where they can see it with a big neon finger flashing on and off saying 'THIS IS IT'?"

"I don't remember any neon."

"Metaphorically, I mean. I mean, why do you do that if you really don't _want_ them to eat it, eh? I mean, maybe you just want to see how it all turns out. Maybe it's all part of a great big ineffable plan. All of it. You, me, him, everything. Some great big test to see if what you've built works properly, eh? You start thinking: it _can't_ be a great cosmic game of chess, it _has_ to be just very complicated Solitaire. And don't bother to answer. If we could understand, we wouldn't be us. Because it's all- all-"

INEFFABLE, said the figure feeding the ducks.

"Yeah. Right. Thanks."

They watched the tall stranger carefully dispose of the empty bag in a litter bin, and stalk away across the grass. Then Crowley shook his head.

"What was I saying?" he said.

"Don't know," said Aziraphale. "Nothing very important, I think."

Crowley nodded gloomily. "Let me tempt you to some lunch," he hissed.

They went to the Ritz again, where a table was mysteriously vacant. And perhaps the recent exertions had some fallout in the nature of reality because, while they were eating, for the first time ever, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

No one heard it over the noise of the traffic, but it was there, right enough.


	2. Arrangements

**Arrangements**

Darkness had long since fallen over the park, but its remaining inhabitants felt no need for light. It was weird for them. The world just continued on in the worst way possible. Anticlimactically. Back to each side fighting its own separate battles in a shallow attempt to win the next war. Not that Aziraphale and Crowley held contempt for the survival of humanity. In all honesty, both were unabashedly grateful. Earth was nice. Earth had nice things like vintage books and white-leather couches.

However, there was this sort of emptiness about those nice things. The end of the world was so great, bold, dramatic. The entire world balancing on a delicate precipice. A precipice where the smile of an Angel or the cackle of a Demon could easily send the world flying one way or the other. And now they were bored. Aziraphale with a quiet discontent and Crowley with brazen lamenting.

There was another thing too. The last God-damned, Devil-blessed ineffable thing. The problem weighed heavily on the other's mind. (Yes, that was indeed worded correctly.) Both knew that the other was thinking the same thing. It was _because_ both were aware of the other's knowledge that it was ineffable. Both figured there was a reason for the other's silence. Which, of course, ensured more silence. It was complicated.

The ducks mysteriously forgot to migrate from the mysteriously unfrozen pond in the park that was mysteriously untouched from winter's reign. Weird weather.

Crowley tossed the last of his bread to the ducks and Aziraphale shot him a warning look.

"Wasn't going to do anything," Crowley muttered. He looked down at the ducks who ruffled their feathers almost indignantly. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the brisk wind. Then he went though the trouble of taking a breath just to sigh at these odd habits he managed to gather from the human population.

Aziraphale maintained his silence and gazed down at the surface of the pond. Ducks looked back up at him expectantly. If they had tails, they would be wagging them.

"They're cute when they do that," said Aziraphale.

Crowley glanced over at the ducks-that-had-no-tails-but-would-be-wagging-them-if-they-did. He decided that they would be much cuter if all of them had ruffled feathers. Maybe if they were running from a doberman... He half expected to see angry eyes reflecting the light of far-off street lamps, or perhaps a blood-curling growl from the darkness. But the crickets that mysteriously remained for the winter continued their chorus.

"You're awfully quiet tonight."

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, down at the ducks-that-had-no-tails-but-would-wag-them-if-they-did, then at a row of distant lights. He shrugged.

Aziraphale checked his non-existent watch. "Well," he said, "I should get going."

"You should stop reading so many shitty romance novels."

"Pardon me?"

"You've never owned a watch in your life."

"Oh."

They stood awkwardly by the pond. For once, Crowley sincerely regretted having opened his mouth. Maybe one of Aziraphale's vintage, first edition, cliché, and all around shitty novels were what was encouraging him to touch upon this ineffable problem.

Aziraphale waved up at the sky and the clouds obscuring the moon disappeared. It illuminated the sated ducks-that-had-no-tails-but-would-wag-them-if-they-did. The moonlight glinted off the wet backs of frogs and the hard backs of crickets. It guided Crowley and Aziraphale down the mysteriously clear dirt paths as they went their separate ways.

* * *

"Pestilence!" he called. He took a few steps more into the murky water. "Pestilence!" he called again. He fell silent as he waited for a returning call. When none came, he sighed irritably and allowed his hands to fall to his sides, fingertips just brushing the top of the water. Green sludge gathered at his knees and spread evenly out on the water. "I know you're there!" More silence.

HE IS GONE, said a voice behind him.

"No he's not," Pollution replied.

I CAN'T LIE.

Pollution ran a muck-dirtied hand through his snowy hair. The little alive things in the pond scum made themselves at him in the pristine locks. "Well then, where is he?"

NOT IN AFRICA.

Pollution turned around to face the voice just so it wouldn't come from behind him anymore.

HE HASN'T BEEN HERE SINCE THE SEVENTIES.

"Asia?"

NO, said the voice from behind him.

"Is he gone for good then?"

IMPOSSIBLE. HE TAUGHT BACTERIA A FEW TRICKS.

Pollution was silent. Oily rainbow rings spread cheerfully through the water. He didn't show up for the apocalypse, so he must be up to something. He always did prefer to wreak havoc behind the scenes. The last time he didn't show up was 1945, and he was quite busy then. So what was he doing now... There must be a plague somewhere.

"Then he must be-"

I BELIEVE IT IS SO.

Pollution stepped out of the water and wiped the filth off his arms and legs. The pond scum dropped away from his hair. "I'll tell War."

HE IS BUSY. YOU GO AND WE WILL MEET YOU.

"Where are you going?"

HOME. I'M MAKING ARRANGEMENTS.


	3. Tales of the East Coast

**Tales of the East Coast**

Aziraphale had forgotten one of his cassettes under Crowley's seat. For the pure satisfaction of hearing one of the Angel's tapes turn into a Best of Queen album, Crowley slid the tape into the cassette player and waited with an almost sadistic anticipation.

"_We'll meet again,_

_Don't know where,_

_Don't know when,_

_But I know we'll meet aga-_"

Crowley promptly shut it off. "

"What the fuck?" he asked audibly. He ejected the tape and looked at it. The Songs that Won WWII. _This_ was what he listened to? He knew the Angel was a walking anachronism, but, really? He rolled his eyes and tossed the cassette into the back seat. Give it another week.

He looked at the time on his car radio. They should've been here by now. Though he could see without issue in the waning light, he took his sunglasses off for dramatic effect as he stepped out of the Bentley. He leaned against the door and looked up and down the alley. Honestly, after that little stunt Crowley pulled with the ansaphone, he wouldn't be surprised at all if they decided to ditch him. But they were proper, mindless, obedient Demons and wouldn't do such a thing unless ordered. Or perhaps if they suddenly realized their own mindless obedience and decided to go rogue.

He waited impatiently for another ten minutes before he thought that he might want to had back to his apartment and turn his computer on. Maybe stop at some 24-hour diner on the way back. Even among the modern technological wonders of the day, a certain amount of nostalgia was required for his (relative) happiness.

It was a diner that the late-night crowd was permitted to smoke in. With some small sense of satisfaction, Crowley attributed that success to his continuing presence there. No other Demon could understand the value of the good ol' middle finger to society.

While he enjoyed late-night breakfast among the ribbons of cigarette smoke, he wondered why Hastur and Ligur didn't meet him. They could've been caught by something or discorporated, but it's best not to get one's hopes up. And exorcism was a myth parents told their kids to make them feel better, but anything is possible. Well, he hoped anything was possible. Those two were _such_ a pain in his ass.

And then there was screaming, and Crowley sighed irritably. He threw his fork down against his plate in surrender and stood up fluidly. His cigarette was dropped into a teacup on his way outside (not _his_ teacup, of course. Ew.)

He was expecting to see Hastur and Ligur tormenting some poor unsuspecting soul, but there seemed to be no one around. Street lights glowed, unimpressed in the night; a lone taxi meandered down the street. A completely unassuming city scene.

Crowley was about to go in and finish, because he would suddenly find himself undisturbed by fellow patrons and employees alike. While he was at it, everyone would forget their cigarettes or their tables, and a massive chocolate cake would appear at the table he was sitting at. He wouldn't eat it, he just wanted it there.

Having come to this marvellous resolution, he nodded to himself.

From an alley across the street, there was muffled shuffling, then another scream. More out of curiosity than anything, he crossed to road to have a look.

He blessed under his breath at the scene. A wide-eyed, half-naked man was simultaneously trying to subdue and cover a young woman's mouth. She was naked except for undergarments. A steady rage built up inside Crowley the longer he stood there. He was still expecting Hastur and Ligur so he couldn't just... But he couldn't just _leave_ her there either.

The man was still frozen, even as the woman started struggling again.

Crowley pulled his mobile out and silently hoped Aziraphale was in. He wasn't, so Crowley redialed urgently. Ansaphone.

"Bless it, Angel! I know you're listening. I need you help with something _now_." He paused when Aziraphale still didn't pick up. "A woman is in trouble. Can't touch 'em until you pull them apart."

Aziraphale picked up. "Where?"

Crowley put his phone down on the pavement and tapped his foot impatiently.

With a flash of light, the man and the woman in the alley were separated by an Angel with an heir of only barely big placated with that small degree of manhandling.

Aziraphale stepped between them and nodded toward the man. "My dear," he said.

The man looked confused until Crowley stepped forward with an, "Angel."

Crowley grabbed the man's arm and pulled him away with a near-maniac grin.

* * *

Of course Ligur and Hastur would show up when he was busy. He had only just pulled a grate off a sewer when they showed up.

"All hail Satan," the two said in unison.

"All hail- fuck!"

Little bastard bit him.

"Is that what you're about to do with him?" Hastur asked.

"What?" Crowley asked, as he dropped the man into the sewer head first.

"Fuck him," Ligur clarified.

"No," Crowley said. He stepped on the man's fingers to make him release the side, then fixed the grate back over the hole.

When he faced Hastur and Ligur in time for them to share one of their 'just-look-at-this-guy' looks, he added, "Might do a priest later. Wife, family, whole nine yards."

"Nine yards?"

"An American expression."

Crowley added that it was American because the entire population of America seemed to be secretly miserable, and therefore they made each other miserable. So Below tended to approve of anything American lately. Maybe they had finally gained an appreciation of Crowley's methods.

Hastur and Ligur hummed their approval.

"Speaking of American," said Ligur.

"You're being reassigned there. East Coast," said Hastur.

"Why?" Crowley asked. London found itself another sewer grate short as it suddenly became paved over.

"Did you not get the memo?"

"I've been... er... busy."

"Right," said Hastur with distaste. "The wife of someone who worked for an art school got divorced from her husband because they caught their daughter having sex, and they blamed each other. The ex-husband was having a hard time of it and denied the right man entry into art school. That man tried to make the third Reich?"

"Oh," Crowley said. "That."

"The point of that was to tell you that Below is starting to see the value of your 'subtlety', Crowley," Ligur said. Where did he learn air quotes? "They want you in America to continue your work there."

"Right. Okay."

"We're serious."

"Okay.

"He wants you there tomorrow."

"I'll get right on it."

"Boston, Massachusetts. Tomorrow."

"I got it."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Then they were gone.

Crowley stood where he was for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then he heard the agitated cries of the man down in the sewer and remembered that there was a chocolate cake waiting for him just up the road. Surely there was a confused waitress as well. Because she couldn't remember ever working there and the diner was completely empty. Cake, waitress, and cigarettes. Sounded like a plan to him.

* * *

Aziraphale was waiting at his table when he arrived. He was waiting patiently with a hot cup of tea, assuring the waitress that no, she was not crazy, yes, of course she worked there, and yes, the cake had most definitely been there all night.

The diner was mysteriously completely empty except for Aziraphale when Crowley walked in.

"Was that really necessary, my dear?" Aziraphale asked with a sigh.

Crowley lit a cigarette and nodded.

Aziraphale gave another, more resigned sort of sigh and sipped his tea in silence.

Crowley smoked in silence.

They were actually having a conversation.

_Is the girl okay?  
_

_Yes. Did the guy get what was coming to him?_

_Taken care of. Really. Want a smoke?_

_No, thank you. It's a vice._

_So is drinking, are you sure?_

_Yes. I have the feeling they're stolen._

_Taste better that way. Cake?_

_Sure._

Crowley cut a piece for him.

"I'm being sent to America tomorrow," he said.

"Oh, really? What for?" _Punishment?_

"So I can help them make each other more miserable." _I don't know, but do you think you could swing coming too?_

"I'm certain you'll do an excellent job."_ I'll see what I can do._

Aziraphale ate the cake in from of him and Crowley smoked. There was no more conversation, verbal or otherwise. They both knew that if either said something, it would solidly confirm what they knew the other was solidly are of already. It was part of the whole ineffability thing. Both of them knew, but didn't know how to go about making it any less ineffable and a little more solid.

Once Aziraphale noticed Crowley was down to his last cigarette, he refilled the pack with a lazy flick of a thought. His teacup suddenly refilled at the same moment.

For the first time in awhile, they held each other's gaze as they smiled.

* * *

Pollution looked at the Mississippi river sadly. The last time he was here, the river was so incredibly filthy that it literally ran red. Any and all living things in it were dead or mutated horribly. Or causing other things to mutate horribly.

He sulked his way down ine of the banks and touched his toes to the running water. Little trails of gasoline were swept down the current.

HAVE YOU FOUND HIM?

"Working on it," Pollution said, not bothering to look behind him now.

WE THINK HE'S ON THE EAST COAST.

"Oh. Do you think he's already found-"

YES.

Pollution looked dejected.

HE WANTS YOU THERE.

Pollution brightened considerably. "Does he really?"

OF COURSE HE DOES. YOU FIND HIM. I'LL BE IN WASHINGTON, I NEED TO FIND WAR.

"Okay," he said cheerfully.

* * *

As any amateur author who is nervous about entering a new fandom, comments are greatly appreciated. I have the entire thing written out (save the last five or so pages because it's Thanksgiving and I haven't had my Physics class for the last three days.) It's hard to estimate exactly how long it's going to be, but it seems about 30,000 ish words and maybe about 14 chapters by the time I'm done. Basically, it just needs to be typed up. Depending on my comments and feedback, I'll have the opportunity to go back and edit as I type before I post it, so please, if you have something to say, then SAY IT. I would hate for anyone to stop reading because of something I could fix. I'd rather edit than have a disappointed reader. Your opinions matter and I am here to serve *bows*

I bid you all good night/ good morning/ good evening/ good time-of-whatever-dimension-you-happen-to-inhabit


	4. Heaven is a Theocracy

**Heaven is a Theocracy**

Crowley sat by his cellphone.

He was already a little cranky because it seemed that all of his plants were growing gloriously, so he couldn't just toss one out the window. That would send the wrong message. He had told them: Grow well (inexplicably so) and you won't be thrown out the window. So he had to stand by that.

He sat by his cellphone agitatedly. Wanting to call Aziraphale, but instead sitting in an agitated manner.

All his important stuff was ready to go. He would pack it into the Bentley and then teleport the entire car to Boston. Easiest way to do it, really. Easier than dialing a number at any rate.

Crowley growled at nothing in particular.

Why did everything have to be so difficult with this blessed Angel?! It would be one thing if he would at least _acknowledge_ it, but he pretended it's not even there! And how can Crowley even bring it up when his superiors are always breathing down his neck? Obviously Aziraphale knew though! He had to know. Crowley almost wished he didn't.

Crowley almost missed his phone buzzing.

He picked it up and said: "Bless it, Angel!-"

"KEEPING CONTACT WITH THAT ANGEL OF YOURS, CROWLEY?"

"No, I was telling him to leave me alone. My attempts to seduce him just made him act like some clingy girl, and now he won't bugger off." Well, at least it wouldn't look suspicious on his end if Aziraphale did end up going to America.

"GOOD THING YOU'RE GOING TO AMERICA THEN."

"Yes, I'm relieved."

"ARE YOU READY TO GO?"

"Nearly. I just need to put my stuff in my car."

"WHY SHOULD I BE CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR CAR?"

"... Materialism. Greed."

"...OKAY. SPEAKING OF GREED, HE'S IN AMERICA AND YOU'RE GOING TO HELP HIM."

"Great."

"YOU BETTER NOT MESS UP."

"I won't."

"AZIRAPHALE IS OUT OF THE PICTURE SO I EXPECT IT TO WORK THIS TIME."

"Of course it will."

"TEN MINUTES, CROWLEY."

"Okay."

"I'M SERIOUS, CROWLEY."

"I know. Ten minutes."

The line went dead.

Crowley sat where he was for a few seconds. Within the span of that time, all of the belongings he would bring to America with him appeared in the Bentley.

He didn't actually want to leave London. Where was the fun in making people _more_ miserable? He just liked seeing people knocked a few pegs down. He liked seducing priests and somehow being at the centre of political scandals. He liked the Angel to bring people up so he could bring them back down, then watch them question their Higher Entities after. Crowley just liked people.

Okay, he might like the Angel a nit. But just because he is enough of a bastard to even be _worth _liking. That wouldn't have been fun to explain to his boss. He opted to say that he had been hoping to seduce him, nice and slow and steady, the way Agents of Below preferred to operate. _BUT WHY STOP THE APOCALYPSE, CROWLEY? '_Well, I figured that you guys had it under control, so I could proceed with trying to make the Angel Fall." Below was a bit more receptive to the way he usually did things after that. His boss even used his phone now.

Crowley stood up, donned his sunglasses, and headed for the door. His phone started buzzing against the table. He knew it was Aziraphale this time.

But it was about time to accept that they were going to be stuck where they currently were forever. Neither could really get closer, and Crowley couldn't stay hung up on it anymore.

He pulled a leather jacket on and went out to the Bentley.

* * *

"Did you already leave, my dear?" Aziraphale asked the voicemail.

He left that message after the second time he called. Crowley never just _didn't_ pick up. He worried for a time that it was Crowley's superiors, but they had seemed satisfied enough with his version of the whole Apocalypse business. Whatever his version had been.

Maybe it was his own superiors. But his superiors would find a way to tell him that they knew.

Sometimes he felt as if Angels weren't truly and purely good anymore. At least not in the way they were once expected to be. He himself wasn't as he used to be either. But he still loved life and all of creation unconditionally, without hoping for a promotion every couple hundred years. Honestly, he was happy where he was.

Besides, where would Crowley be without his counterpart?

Hopefully not America. His paperwork hadn't gone though yet. Therein lied the problem with Heaven being a Theocracy. So very incredibly productive, even though nothing ever got done. But you can be sure that everyone is always up and ready to go when there is no need for drama. No one was moving during the apocalypse, but everyone was raring to go when they heard that Aziraphale had helped a Demon stop it.

Aziraphale corrected them saying, "No, _he_ helped _me. _I'm trying to push him toward Love.' And everyone Above said: 'Awww!' and have been keeping an eye on the proceedings ever since. Getting a Demon to see Love would be the tale of the Universe. So everyone was waiting for the great tale of the tragedy of the Demon who loved an Angel. And it would be a tragedy because Aziraphale, of course, couldn't be allowed to love the Demon back. That would just be wrong.

Aziraphale sighed and decided it was time to get researching. He pulled the nearest Bible from a shelf and started reading.

* * *

"Pestilence!" Pollution shouted, running over to embrace the horseman.

Pestilence turned and hugged Pollution enthusiastically, lifting him from the ground and spinning him around.

"Who is that?" Pollution asked, only slightly suspiciously, when he was put back down.

"Despair," Pestilence said simply. "We have something interesting going. But to be honest-" he bent forward to whisper, "-he scares me. He's creepier than Death."

"Whoa, seriously?" Pollution asked, with a new respect.

"Yeah You won't be able to sense it though, you're not Human. I'm just sensitive to these things."

They both glanced at the being that was sitting on the edge of the building, gazing down at cars and passer-bys below as if in a trance.

"He gives me the creeps," Pestilence said. "I don't know what to do with him."

"Should we leave him along?"

"I think so."

They watched Despair watching the ground.

"Do you think that the Angel or that Demon will show up?"

"There's no way they could stop this. Besides, Hell is on our side. They like the way we're going about this, and by the time Heaven decides to do anything about it, it will be too late."

"Oh," said Pollution, "Good thinking."


	5. Virtues

**Virtue**

Crowley seriously hated America. It was the way most people felt about London. It would most certainly make them miserable to stay, but it would probably kill them to leave. For his part, Crowley just wanted to high-tail it out of there. Something about the place seriously unnerved him.

It was like there was this great, gigantic thing right in front of him that he just couldn't see or put his finger on. Like a huge, invisible something chasing noisily after him, but always stayed the same distance away, and started fleeing in a fit of giggles when Crowley tried to approach it. Very frustrating.

And don't even get him started on the people. They went out of their way to make themselves utterly sad or angry, then proceeded to pass it to everyone around them. If there was one happy person, he would be avoided like the plague or promptly smushed out or overwhelmed by the sadness of everyone else. Clearly, these people did _not_ need any further help from Crowley. They seemed to have it covered well enough on their own.

Crowley trued to cause mayhem where he could, truly. Pot holes, flat tires, sex scandals, impounding vehicles, fake calls from bosses, and telemarketers glare. But people just sucked it all right in. They ate it and they used it and they _owned_ it like no other. Then they went around to each other, _bragging_ about it. 'Oh surely you're not as miserable as me.' 'But wait until you hear_ this_.' 'That's not nearly as bad as...'

The horsemen either needed to hurry up and meet with him, or Crowley needed to go back to Britain. He hadn't called Aziraphale and Aziraphale hadn't called him.

* * *

Crowley hadn't called him. It didn't make the situation any easier. If he called, then Aziraphale could ring Above and say, 'See, we can't stay separated! We're so close- and look! He called me.' But no. Why would that infuriating Demon ever make things easier?

Okay, to be fair, it was Crowley's job to be difficult, but he had never _gone out of his way_ to torment Aziraphale before. He was an opportunist, Crowley prided himself on that.

_So why,_ Aziraphale was a virtue away from seething, _would he purposefully leave his phone and plants behind?_ Aziraphale realized he practically was seething and he stopped. _Temperance_, he reminded himself.

His brush with anger concerned him. He put his head in his hands and sighed. He'd been doing that a lot lately. He didn't actually _need_ to breathe, so he wasn't sure why he took up doing it. Then he noticed his leg was jiggling. _Patience,_ he told himself.

Though how was he to be patient and have temperance when his mind couldn't rest and Heaven seemed to be going as slow as possible?

Aziraphale really, really, _really_, didn't want to think about it. There was this _thing,_ okay? He never thought of it as a bad thing. It was just a thing. Fact of life- existence... Whatever. IT was his job to love creation. _All_ creation. And he did. Unlike _some_ being he could care to complain about if Humility and Kindness weren't also virtues. He did his job, okay? He _liked_ his job. He has the Bible (all versions) memorized and he lived by the seven virtues.

His leg was shaking again, but he was too agitated to care this time. Did he really actually love Crowley or was he just doing his job? If he acted on the impulse he could be leading Crowley on, could be getting him in trouble. Couldn't bring it up because they'd both be in trouble. Couldn't ignore it anymore because they both knew and _fed_ it until it was this _thing._

And now the thing was bothering him and picking away at his Patience and Temperance while Heaven sat around listing to bad Harp players over bad alcohol. _Agonizing_.

Plus, no way to talk to Crowley. Telephone directories were scarce in America and Crowley was overseas any way. That, and he left his phone on his kitchen table. Aziraphale had went to see if Crowley had left, then he went inside because his plants were doing the Angiospermic equivalent of crying. So Aziraphale had made a habit of going to water them. He didn't make a habit of playing with Crowley's old phone or jiggling his leg after watering the plants, but here he sat- near brooding.

He opted to go for a walk in the park and maybe feed some ducks.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed to God and Satan and whoever else would listen to keep Crowley safe, and for Crowley to forgive him for the way things between them would have to be.


	6. Cause and Effect

**Cause and Effect**

"Alright," Crowley said, teeth jittering in the cold, "What are we doing here?"

"Waiting," Pestilence said idly.

"For?"

"War and Death."

Any number of comments would have been appropriate for that moment, but he settled simply for, "Why?"

"End of the world, of course!" Pollution said with his usual cheeriness. "I thought I'd be the cause, of course. But the ozone won't eat itself fast enough."

Crowley glanced between the two Horsemen. They were so calm. Another thing to add to the 'This is so Unnerving' list. But he tried not to think too much about that.

"Don't you like people?" Crowley asked.

"Of course," Pollution said.

"Well enough, I guess," Pestilence said with a shrug. He looked at Crowley suspiciously. "You aren't planning to stop it this time, I hope."

"No, I've had enough." He blinked at himself.

Pollution and Pestilence looked at each other knowingly.

"What ?" Crowley asked.

"Are you _sure_ you're a Demon?" Pollution questioned.

"What else could I be?"

"Something that Despair can get to," Pestilence said. "Despair _is_ a sin, but I don't think it affects Demons like it does Humans."

"You should see what it does to people," Pollution chimed in.

"It goes beyond Depression, I guess."

"Mmhmm. Despair sucks them in and makes them devour themselves from the inside. Shreds everything up 'till there's nothing left! It's brilliant. They off themselves, then Heaven will refuse to take them," Pollution said with a grin. "But it gets better. One goes down, and everyone goes down. No one knows what to do with the depressed people, then when the people left behind get depressed, something happens to them. Despair will make it so that people can't deal or cope, then Pestilence will spread it like a plague."

Crowley was silent for a long time.

"What do you think?" Pollution urged.

"It's... Efficient."

"Then Hell will have its army," Pestilence said, looking over the frozen city.

"Army?" Crowley asked, feeling mildly concerned.

Pestilence turned to look at him. "This will be the last battle."

"Oh," said Crowley.

* * *

Aziraphale had long since returned to researching. The most obvious passage about it in the Bible would be: '_Now it came to pass when men began to multiply on the face of the Earth and daughters were born to them, that the ons of God saw the daughters of men, that they were beautiful; and they took wives for themselves of all whom they chose.' _But this was different. First, this was modern times; two, Crowley was a Demon and not a Human; three, it says nothing about making sure they would be left together in peace.

Why not just tell him and then live together as are? Their superiors hanging over their shoulders, work getting in the way, discorporation, but most importantly: If Aziraphale was going to do this, he wanted to do it properly. He wanted to love everything, yes. But Aziraphale wanted to be able to tell him with complete honesty and earnesty that out of all the things to love in the world, he loved Crowley the most. It was important to Aziraphale that he knew whether he meant it from the bottom of his heart before he said it. He saw the way Crowley looked at him, he knew how Crowley felt. He knew that Crowley probably loved him, and he felt as if this one little fact was the most important fact in the universe.

So, Aziraphale went back to researching. His paperwork really was taking forever.

* * *

Anathema Device was about to open the door, but she saw a being she thought she wouldn't see again so soon; had initially assumed she wouldn't ever see again. This actually concerned her, because she should've had the sense that he was coming.

"Aziraphale," she said with surprise. "Are you here what I think you're here for?"

"What do you think I'm here for?"

"The Apocalypse happening in America." She pulled the door open and ushered him in.

Aziraphale accepted the ushering and sat down at her small kitchen table. It was still all ery small and bordering quaint, but it seemed more inhabited now. Probably the consequence of two people living there. It was rather impressive what it could do to a place.

"I suppose I should've seen that coming since Crowley is in America now."

Anathema turned halfway around to give him a mixed look of knowing and oh-so-that's-what-you're-here-about-I-get-it-now. She pulled a kettle from the stove and set two teacups down on the table.

"And you're not in America with him because...?"

"Paperwork."

She contemplated him over her tea. "Never stopped you before."

He shrugged.

"You look tired."

"Maybe I am."

"You're an Angel, I don't think you're supposed to get tired."

Aziraphale sipped his tea without comment.

"Did something happen between you two?"

"No."

"Ohh... So _that's_ the problem." She set her cup down and looked at him sternly. "Both of you had a hand in starting this, so you need to work together to resolve it."

Aziraphale rubbed the heel of his palm over his eyes, feeling as old as he was. Angels weren't exactly supposed to feel that way either.

"I'm serious, Aziraphale."

"I know. It's just this..." he gestured hopelessly, "_Thing_."

"One of those ineffable things?"

"Very."

She picked her tea back up and leaned back in her chair, thinking. "So..." she began, "Tell me if this sounds about right. You and Crowley haven't moved any further in so long that you don't even know how to approach it anymore, but you're grown so close that you can't ignore it."

"Yes, but-" he sighed in frustration. "I'm an Angel. An Agent of Above, a messenger, a Holy being..." Aziraphale silently hoped she would get it so he wouldn't have to explain it to her.

Anathema listened, then scrutinized when he trailed off. "Ah," she said. Aziraphale saw it click. "So you're unsure of your feelings for him."

"It's not that. It's more of... the extent." Aziraphale could see that she wasn't quite following. "I do. I know I do. I just want to make sure what I feel is the same as what he feels." He swirled his tea around the bottom of his cup. "I wouldn't want to hurt him. Or mislead him."

"That alone says you care greatly," she said with a nod.

"But is it _enough_?" Aziraphale pressed.

"How am I supposed to know? I'm not an expert and I can't tell you what to do.: When Aziraphale looked as exasperated as an Angel is allowed to look, she leaned forward with a sigh, then looked him in the eye. "Let me ask you this. Do you _believe_ in what Crowley's feelings for you are?"

His eyebrows drew together delicately. "Yes?"

Anathema gave him a look.

"Yes," he said with more certainty.

"IF Crowley asked you to do something that seemed bad, but he swore it was for a good reason and he asked you to trust him and do it without telling you why, would you?"

Aziraphale hesitated, "Probably."

"What if God did?"

Wasn't that a good question? Would he? He _was_ supposed to allow the world to end, but he stopped it with Crowley. He pretty much blatantly defied Above. He can't just _do_ things without question or reason.

"Let me rephrase that," she said, cutting through his thoughts. "If it was God telling you to do one thing, and Crowley the other, what would you do?"

"Depends on what it was, but probably Crowley's side," he said after a shorter pause.

Anathema nodded, then she asked, "So where would you say your loyalties lie?" She held a hand up to stop him from answering. "Because if your loyalty lies with Crowley on the blind faith that he wouldn't deceive you, then you have some thinking to do. You're an Agent of God because it is God and God alone that you answer to. But what does it make you if you no longer answer to God? However, if your loyalty _does_ lie with God, then you're always standing at the ready to be of use to him against all odds and no matter what anyone says. So I ask you again, Aziraphale, friend of Crowley and Servant of God- Who are you loyal to?"

Aziraphale rested his cheek against the table, simply because he was frustrated with himself for not knowing the answer and because he felt that there was little else he could do.

Anathema just patted his hand and refilled his tea cup. She made no move to get him to move or to make him answer.

* * *

Newt came home and Anathema was immediately at his side. She held a finger to her lips and jerked her thumb toward the Angel sleeping at their kitchen table.

"Do they normally sleep?" Newt whispered.

"I don't think so, but I don't think they usually fall in love with Demons either."

"What?"

Anathema waved him off and went to check on the sleeping being. He had shifted in his sleep. Now an arm cushioned his head, curly hair tumbling over it to reach the table. Somehow, Anathema had never noticed that he had a faint smattering of freckles across his face.

"Here's the better question, Aziraphale," she whispered to him. "What would you be willing to give up, if you knew it meant happily being with Crowley until the end of your days?"

Aziraphale didn't stir.


	7. The Songs that Won WWII

**The Songs that Won WWII**

HELLO WAR, Death said.

"Hello, old friend," War replied. "If you're here, then everything must be in place."

WE ARE READY TO START NOW.

War grinned the kind of grin that serial killers gave to their next victim just before it would be too late for them to run.

* * *

Crowley had been in America for about two weeks. He enjoyed the huge servings provided by McDonalds. He got sick of barbecue quickly. Their tea_ seriously_ sucked, but their coffee made up for it.

Well, the coffee made up for it until someone cut him off and he spilled it all over himself. He stared down at the mess on his lap in anger and disbelief. When he looked back up, he quickly miracled a stop sign away before he hit it.

Crowley went down a side street and parked. His head hit the horn. He didn't care. The long, loud, obnoxious noise was welcome and soothing, but somehow pissed him off more. He was so done with Massachusetts, their crazy drivers, and their obsession with seafood.

Obviously the Horsemen had everything under control, so he didn't even knew why he had to be ere.

And why couldn't he just pick a phone up and call Aziraphale? It would be easy. Maybe not. Not after he left the way he did.

He grumbled and turned the radio on.

"_Say you know where you belong,_

_Don't you know it's with me?"_

He changed it.

"_Looooove hurts,_

_Looove scars,_

_Love-"_

Click.

"_'Cause I'm counting on a new beginning._

_A reason for living, a deeper meaning-"_

Click.

"_Time can never mind_

_The careless whispers_

_Of an old friend-"_

Crowley shut the radio off. American radio was clearly conspiring against him. He didn't want to think about the Angel any more. He'd been thinking too much lately. He didn't know what to do. So it was good that he world was ending. Okay, so, maybe not so good. But what else was there to do?

_No! Don't think like that, it's just Despair getting to you. You need to find a way to stop this. The world can't let this happen just because you ignored him. Go find yourself a phone._

Crowley nodded at himself in the mirror and shifted into reverse. Yeah, there was no way he was going to do it.

As he checked out the back window, something on his floor caught his eye. He picked it up. That tape Aziraphale forgot was still hiding out.

More out of curiosity than wanting to listen to it, he picked it up. It still had "The Songs that Won WWII" plastered across the front, but it had been over a month since the last time he played it. It had to have become Queen. He tentatively slid it in.

"_-Some sunny day._

_Keep smiling through,_

_Just like you always do,_

_'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds_

_Far away~"_

When the urge to shut it off didn't immediately consume him, he let it play. It was like seeing a side of the Angel he hadn't seen before. Aziraphale didn't seem like the sort to like this kind of music. He was a jazz club at eight-o-clock kind of guy, not a love song kind of guy. They weren't _really_ love songs though; the longer he listened, the more apparent that became. They were stories about people apart, but who hadn't given up hope yet.

And that just about settled it, he needed to find a phone.

* * *

Aziraphale started awake to his phone vibrating. His hand was practically plastered to his face and now there was a stinging red mark on his cheek. He was grateful to find that he slept with his mouth closed.

It could be no one but Crowley calling, so he sat upright (back popping a bit), and pulled his mobile from his pocket.

He cleaned his throat and said, "Hello, my dear."

"_Hi, Angel. Sorry, been busy. You left your cassette in my car."_

Since when did Crowley apologize? "Which cassette?"

"_The Songs that Won World War Two."_

"Oh, so that's where it got off to."

"_Yep."_

"..."

"_..._"

"So, er- do you want me to go get it?"

"_I'd say yes, but there's an Apocalypse going down right now and Below is up my ass _and_ down my throat."_ He chuckled at his wit for a moment. Then he reluctantly grew serious. "_Listen, Angel. I know you don't want to talk about it Really, I get it- so if this is the way it's going to be, then don't... Make this too hard for me. I have to end the world this time."_

Aziraphale wanted to say many things to that. 'Hey, we should stop it again! Oh, come now, that was hardly appropriate. I _do_ want to talk about it, I just _can't. _Oh, Crowley you're upset, I'm so sorry, it's all my fault, I know.'

Aziraphale spent to long deciding which to say, so Crowley halted his train of thought with: "_And I suppose it doesn't matter any way because the world is ending._"

"No," said Aziraphale, "I suppose it wouldn't."

"_You sound tired._"

"You sound sad."

"_It's just Despair influencing me. It's bad over here. Really bad."_

"Despair?"

"_It's a sin somehow._" Crowley hesitated. "_Have you been feeling funny lately?_"

Aziraphale crossed his legs in a business-like manner. "How so?"

"_I haven't been feeling myself. I think it's because of Despair, but if you're tired too, maybe something else is going on. If there is, then maybe the world isn't over yet."_

"I've not been feeling _exactly_ like myself," Aziraphale admitted. "I was _physically_ tired and I actually fell asleep on Anathema's table."

"_... Why are you with Anathema?_"

"I was bored," he said defensively.

"_Then you should have come to America._"

Aziraphale couldn't tell how Crowley said it. It could've been angrily, testily, sadly, softly, resignedly.

"The paperwork hasn't gone through..."

"_When have you ever cared about the paperwork?"_

Oops, _now_ he sounded mad.

"Since the last Apocalypse because the way I explained it to my superiors was..." he trailed off. "Whoops."

"_Whoops, what, Angel? How_ did_ you explain it to your superiors?"_

"That's not important. How did you explain it to _yours_?"

"_Irrelevant!_"

"It's completely relevant!"

"_Fine_," said Crowley, suddenly calm. "_You tell me and I'll tell you."_

"I can't tell you." He felt the animosity through the tiny receiver, so he edited, "I can't because I didn't tell them the truth and if I say the truth I'll get in trouble."

"_What did you tell them then?_"

"It's not the truth, Crowley, it doesn't matter." He waited for the name to burn his tongue, but the pain never came.

"_It does matter. I lied to mine too. Now, out with it, Angel."_

Aziraphale pushed the name thing to the back of his mind. "I told them-" he pretended to clear his throat, then he sat up straighter as if it would preserve his dignity, "I told them that I was trying to get you to... fall in love with me."

"_Oh,"_ Crowley said, "_Oh."_

"Mmhmm."

"_So you...?"_

"What?"

"_The lie."_

"What about it?"

"_What was the lie?"_

"Well... That, I um-" he cleared his throat again. "Didn't feel the same way."

"_... Oh."_

"Yes. I just uh- yeah..."

"_Well then, er_... _So are you saying-"_

"Please don't go down that road right now, my dear." He flinched prematurely at the earful he was sure to get. He held the phone a little ways from his ear.

"_Why not? Would there be a more convenient time before the world ends? Should I make an appointment with your secretary?"_

Aziraphale understood that he deserved the biting sarcasm. "You know how Angels are designed, how can I be sure that it's true?"

"_Is it really that hard to figure out?_"

"For me it is. Not to say that it's not hard for you! I'm sure it was-is! It's just that your feelings are your own. Angels are _supposed_ to love everything."

"_So you can't figure out how you feel about me. Great. Glad we had this talk."_

"No, Crowley, hold on. I know I feel enough for you to want to be absolutely certain when I say it to you. I just need to be sure that the way I feel are my own feelings. I don't want to lead you on or hurt you. I never meant to do that. If you feel I have, then I'm sorry. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me for it." He ended with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, then waited for an angry rebuttal or for Crowley to hang up. Crowley didn't normally act like this. He was acting Human enough for Aziraphale to be seriously concerned, but he was still waiting for Crowley to hang up or yell at him.

"_Fine._"

"Fine?"

"_Yes, fine."_

"..."

"_Still want to know what I told my superiors?"_

"Um... Yes. What _did_ you tell them? You were really rather vague about it."

"_That I was trying to seduce you_."

Crowley laughed, so Aziraphale thought a joke may be in order. "But you _have_ tried to seduce me."

"_Hey, that was a looooong time ago. Besides-_" he hesitated. "_Seducing you wouldn't be exactly what I currently want to do... Just for the record."_

Suddenly a beam of light shot down from the ceiling and touched down to the floor.

"Oh no," Aziraphale said.

"_Hey_," Crowley said sharply, "_This really isn't easy here, Angel_."

"No, not you dear-" he swallowed, "-Above apparently needs to speak to me."

"_Oh no._"

"I'll call you later."

"_Don't go_," Crowley said quickly. "_They won't let you go easy."_

Trying to sound braver than he felt, he said, "Oh, don't worry too much. I have a few words to give them any way. I'll only be a moment." And having said that, he stepped into the light and disappeared.

* * *

Okay, before any of you bite my head off, let me explain something. Have you ever met those people that love to be miserable? Honest to goodness like being miserable because when they find the right person, s/he can leech sympathy off them. If you've never met anyone like this, it can be hard to understand. But these are the people that refuse to help themselves yet expect help from everyone else and want all the attention and sympathy in the world.

No, I do not mean Depression by this. Depression is a serious illness in my opinion, and people who make themselves miserable have a problem. Granted, that problem may be depression.

Please do not bite my head off for saying that Despair is a sin. I do not mean that Depression is a sin or that people who are depressed have something wrong with them. On the contrary, I believe that society either refuses or does not know how to treat them properly, and I think that fact is horrible. That's actually part of the point to this story.

If you do happen to have some sort of question or comment about this, or would like some further clarification, I assure you that I will answer you.


	8. The Whole World Knows

**The Whole World Knows**

Crowley heard a faint clack as Aziraphale set his phone down on the table, and Crowley started panicking. They could lock him up there, discorporate him, erase his memories, _anything_. On a moment's whim he threw himself through the phone lines and found himself in Anathema's kitchen. There was no beam of light and no Angel.

Crowley sat down and rubbed his face slowly. _Great_, he thought, _six millennia, and the moment we start going somewhere..._

The door opened, and Newt walked in. He saw Crowley and practically ran back out. Crowley grumbled to himself and sat down irritably, waiting.

* * *

War grinned gleefully at Pride, Greed, and Wrath. These motivators could get people to do just about anything. They would touch politicians and it would become a campaigning tool. War was always a campaign weapon in Washington. Then people, touched by Sloth, Despair, and Pride would allow the war to wage on and on. That's just how it worked. And it would work flawlessly.

Pestilence and Despair had been working ever-harder. Pollution had been a little distracting to the work, o Sloth started to occupy him. They got along well. Pride and Wrath turned out to be incredibly well-suited to working together. They never much cared for each other, but working in Politics made them the best of friends. The only ones who didn't seem to get along were Greed and Envy. They absolutely despised each other.

And the rest of them found their struggles amusing.

But Prise, Greed, and Wrath had War grinning gleefully at them, so that means they must have done well. So those three sins grinned back.

The American population was already decreasing little by little, and soon they would collapse from lack of funds and the country starting to fall apart in general. Then Famine could step in and leech any remaining hope from the rest of the world recovering from America's collapse. A hope Famine and Depression as a contagious plague. Weren't they just getting creative?

Crowley could be a little more helpful with directing them toward the best way to bring Humans down; considering Below called him the go-to expert on Human affairs.

WE HAVE A PROBLEM, Death said to War, I CAN'T FIND CROWLEY.

War felt a mild frustration that probably destroyed a city somewhere. "We'll find him," War assured the various surrounding Sins and Horsemen.

"He's probably in Soho," Pollution said over the silent crowd.

SOHO? War asked.

"It's where that Angel of his lives," Lust said distastefully.

IS THIS GOING TO MEAN TROUBLE?

"Probably," Pride sighed.

"Does anyone here volunteer to get him?" Envy asked.

No one immediately volunteered, but Greed glared at Envy. "I can go," Greed said, glaring at Envy.

"Well, you can't send _him,_" Envy snapped.

Lust stood up quickly. "Just let me get him."

As she left, she called over her shoulder, "And someone tell his boss that he went AWOL."

* * *

Anathema had been surprised to see Crowley sitting there instead of Aziraphale. Before she could ask, Crowley explained, and then he went on to continue sulking menacingly. Anathema assumed that he was sulking menacingly so he didn't look like he was sulking worriedly. She told him as such and Crowley explained to her the various crevices in which she could shove it. So she let him be for the night.

He was still there the next morning. Newt tried talking to him, but Crowley really just wasn't interested He replied when Anathema spoke to him, but he wanted to be left alone. So he sulked menacingly for a day or so. Then sulked. Then sulked miserably. Then sat there miserably with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.

Anathema and Newt got a table for their Living Room.

And two days after that, there was a knock at the door. Newt started drooling where he stood at the woman who looked to be living sex walking around on two legs. Crowley looked up hopefully, then sighed and looked back down.

"I'm not leaving here, Lust," Crowley said.

Newt's lower jaw remained comfortably on the floor and he said nothing.

Lust walked over to Crowley to take the seat across from him. She was obviously waiting for him to look up, so he pretended she wasn't there.

"Oh," said Lust with fake surprise. "I forgot."

Crowley looked at her in momentary alarm, just to see her changing into the male example of living sex walking around on two legs. He grinned slyly at Crowley, tantalizing promises transmitted through his gaze.

Crowley just rolled his eyes and finally stood up to make tea. "Want some Newt? Lust?"

"Never had a demon offering tea to me before," Lust said in a silk-wrapped-steel voice. He stood up and pressed himself to Crowley's back.

Crowley froze for a moment before deciding to ignore it. He ignored it through the arms wrapped around his waist and suggestions whispered in his ear- dark, filthy suggestions in old languages that made his hair stand on end and the primal part of his brain reel. Crowley only pushed Lust away when he tried pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, under his ear.

Lust silently started back at Crowley, less than half a metre of space between them. "Huh," Lust said.

"What?" Crowley asked.

"It's not working."

"Obviously. Nice observation," Crowley deadpanned. He walked to Newt and pushed a mug into his hands.

"It never just doesn't work," Lust said.

"Well," Crowley began, "I'm not human, sex-driven, or interested."

Lust contemplated him. "I should've gone with the female form, shouldn't I?"

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Crowley assured him, giving him a cup of tea and sitting back down. "You didn't come all the way over here just to seduce me."

"No," Lust sighed. "You need to come back or talk to your boss."

"Why did they send you for this?"

"I don't have much to do with the project, and only Greed or Envy were willing to go. If we sent one without the other, they'd both sulk and get mad. But we can't send them together either. They'd kill each other."

Crowley nodded. They probably would kill each other given the chance.

"You're not coming back, are you?"

Crowley shook his head, looked down into his cup. Felt kind of small, uncertain.

"I suppose there's no point in asking why."

"Jesus, does the whole world know?"

Lust pondered. "Probably."

"I'm fucked," Crowley said. "I'm completely and utterly fucked. I'm sure my boss has figured it out by now, and Aziraphale's boss figured it out, and now we're both fucked."

"Figured what out?" Newt finally asked weakly. Apparently even the male form of living sex walking around on two legs got him going. Or it could be the power-filled air thrumming. Crowley was, after all, one of Hell's oldest Demons; Lust being not quite a Demon, but an extremely powerful Hell-being all the same.

"If you would like to be _literally_ fucked one last time, I an help with that," Lust offered hopefully.

Crowley shook his head.

"Or if you'd like to do the fucking-" he was cut off from Crowley's stern glare. "Not the time?"

"Not the time," Crowley confirmed.

They finished their tea over Crowley's contemplation of his fate. No matter what the ending was, he knew that he wouldn't ever see Aziraphale again This would be it. He didn't want the world to end, not really. And now Aziraphale was gone too. So this was it. This was the end for him. He found he was okay with it. The Despair he had been fighting off finally took root in his heart. He let it sit there, for it was finally filling that space Aziraphale had left.

He felt strangely content as he finished and stood up.

Lust gave him an awed sort of look. "Something is different about you."

Crowley shrugged. He was just ready to meet whatever fate Below had in store for him. He could meet it with some semblance of dignity, at least.

He took his sunglasses off, folded them, and placed them on the table. Contrary to popular belief, his eyes were a deep Emerald Green, not red. Next went the leather jacket, hung up on the back of the chair he'd been sitting in for the past week or so. All that remained was a plain white t-shirt and casual dress pants.

"Lucifer!" he shouted down to the floor, "I'm ready!"

A great black rift opened up slowly. Yawning open lazily into streaks of red and black. Some sulphurous smoke plumbed up.

"Any last words?" Lust asked.

"No. Wait..." he paused. He was about to die, what was there to say? He asked as much.

"Whatever you couldn't say in life," New offered. "That's what I would do."

Oh but there was so much he hadn't been able to say. So much. Everything he couldn't say in six millennia, he could say now. But he was about to vanish this place forever and he was sad and he missed Aziraphale and he was worried for the world, so he couldn't find the words.

"Tell Aziraphale... His tape is still in the back of the Bentley. If he's still alive." He fished in the leather jacket's pockets for the keys and tossed them to Newt.

"That's it?" Lust asked, "Really?"

"Yeah. If he's actually alright then I don't want him to hear it from anyone but me."

Lust looked impressed. "You really do lo-"

"Shh!" Crowley interrupted quickly, "Keep it down."

"The whole world already knows, Crowley."

"It's the spirit of the thing."

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to say it?"

Crowley sighed, turned on his heel, and walked out the door. Newt and Lust both looked at each other, then ran over to the window simultaneously They looked curiously at what he was doing. He knelt on the open grass, turned around, flipped them off through the glass, and faced forward again. They strained to see what he was doing. His hands were clasped with his head bent forward over them.

Newt and Lust looked at each other again. He was_ praying._

Making no show of it, Crowley simply came back in and flipped them off once again. Then he fake-saluted them and jumped down into Hell.

* * *

Crowley had no way of seeing this, and the two occupants of Newt's kitchen couldn't quite believe their eyes when they saw it.

The portal from Heaven opened back up to put Aziraphale back down on Earth, but there was an obvious misstep somewhere because Aziraphale fell down from Heaven straight down into Hell.

"OH SHIT," Metatron said, "WHOOPS."


	9. Issues

** Issues**

When Anathema walked through the door of her house, she gagged then choked on the sheer amount of power in her kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Newt asked.

She looked at the assembled beings in her living room. "Wow, seriously?" she wheezed.

A man who would be best described as living sex walking on two legs offered a glass of water to her. "My apologies," he said charmingly.

"Thank you," she said coldly, taking the water. "Let me guess. You're Lust."

"Guilty~"

When Anathema looked between he and Newt accusingly, Lust added, "I tried, but I got nothing. He really loves you, miss."

"Good," she said and drank from the glass in her hand. "Who is everyone else?"

An enthusiastic white-haired teenager bounced up to her and he shook her hand. "Pollution, miss. Pleasure to meet you, we've all heard so much!"

Anathema smiled politely, but discreetly wiped the soot from his hand on her jeans when he wasn't looking.

"That," he continued, "is Pestilence-" a sickly forty-year-old-looking-man wearing a scarf waved, then coughed into a handkerchief. "-that is Pride-" a young man in a perfectly tailored suit and lots of rings on his fingers gave her the once-over then nodded, "-that is Sloth-" she couldn't make out any real features on him, he was more or less a blob on the floor, "and this is Wrath." He looked like a gang member and somehow she was sure that he was armed to the hollow cavities in his non-existent bones.

"Great," Anathema said. "What are they doing here?" she asked Newt.

"Waiting," said Pride, waiting to be asked what he was waiting for.

""Well, uh..." Newt said, "Lust came to get Crowley but then he went to see his boss and there was a hole in the floor and before it closed after Crowley, Aziraphale fell into it. These guys are just here to see the outcome. Envy went to get snacks and pop."

"Great," she said again. "What are we, the crossroads for non-humans with issues?"

"What 'issues' do we have?" Wrath demanded.

Anathema gave him a look that clearly said: _Seriously?_

Pride sniffed indignantly and looked away.

Sloth said nothing.

"Are we expecting anyone else?" she asked the room at large.

"More of us will come and go," Pestilence said, followed by wheezing. "We still have an Apocalypse to cause, so we can't stay here _all_ the time. And we'd need to go in shifts anyway because Greed and Envy will kill each other.

Pollution nodded solemnly. "They really would, you know."

* * *

Crowley lands pretty gracefully, all things considered. He dusted off and immediately teleported to where he knew he needed to be.

"YOU'RE IN HUGE TROUBLE, CROWLEY," Lucifer said.

Crowley was standing on a platform surrounded by the void of Hell because his boss loved to be dramatic.

"I know," Crowley said.

"I COULD KILL YOU," he said.

"I know."

"DON'T YOU CARE?"

"A little, but Aziraphale is dead." Huh. No burn.

"SO THAT'S IT?"

"Yeah."

"YOUR FRIEND DIES AND NOW IT'S THE END OF THE LINE FOR YOU?"

"Well," Crowley scratched the back of his head, "I only stopped the first Apocalypse because I had him behind me. So now he's gone. Why would I save the world if I'll have to do It alone then live in it alone? But it's a moot point any way because now you're probably going to lock me up here or kill me too."

Lucifer started laughing. An uproarious soul-rattling laughter.

"And he's not my friend," Crowley yelled over him. He didn't mean to say it, but now he thought about it. An enemy? A partner? A lover? Much too trite somehow, to call him a 'friend'. Too petty.

"WHAT IS HE TO YOU THEN, CROWLEY?" he asked tauntingly. "FEELINGS RUN TOO DEEP FOR 'FRIENDS'?"

"Yes, actually. And don't say my name so easily."

"WELL, WHAT IS HE?"

"He's... an Angel."

"YEAH? REALLY? I HADN'T GATHERED."

"Oh would you _shut up_," Crowley snapped. "I was going to say that he's _my_ Angel."

"YOU'VE GOT SOME NERVE TELLING ME TO SHUT UP."

"Well, I'm dead any way," Crowley shrugged.

"FAIR POINT. BUT HE'S NOT YOUR ANGEL."

"Yeah, he is actually."

"ALL ANGELS ARE LOYAL TO GOD. ONLY TO GOD. IF IT WAS A CHOICE BETWEEN YOU AND GOD, HIS FATHER AND CREATOR, HE WOULD NOT CHOOSE YOU."

"Maybe, maybe not. But the point is he is still my Angel. He is just enough of a bastard to be worth liking, so that makes him an Angel in my eyes. He is _my_ Angel, and his loyalties lie with me- should he ever be free to make the choice for himself."

"BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW? HOW CAN YOU BE SURE?"

"I can't be sure, and I don't know. I think it's what you can call a matter of faith."

"DEMONS CAN'T HAVE FAITH."

"This one does."

"THEN YOU CAN'T BE A DEMON."

"Good. As I've said, if Aziraphale is gone, then I don't want to live until the world finds a natural end." Crowley clapped his hands together and went to adjust his sunglasses before he remembered that he took them off. "So, we have some options here, boss. You can either let me go and I'll stop the Apocalypse just so I can sleight you for all the misery you've put me through; or you can kill me now. Let me tell you one thing though, if you let me live, I'll find a way to end it myself."

"THERE IS NO NEED FOR SUCH MELLOW DRAMATICS."

"What could you _possibly_ know about this kind of loss? I don't know how humans can survive this. I think it might eat me alive if I don't end it first. How could someone like you get it?" He clenched his fists then found himself yelling. Pure rage and pain and hurt poured out of him in waves, just because he was sick of taking everything quietly. "WHAT COULD THE LIKES OF YOU EVEN DREAM TO UNDERSTAND ABOUT LOSS?! ABOUT FEEDING DUCKS AND MIDNIGHT SUPPERS AND THEN BEING ALONE? I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER WHAT LIFE WAS LIKE BEFORE HIM, AND I DON'T WANT TO. IT WASN'T A LIFE AT ALL! SO NOW I CAN'T JUST SIT HERE WAITING AROUND AND TAKING ORDERS!"

"LOSS?!" Lucifer yelled back. "_YOU_ DON'T EVEN KNOW ABOUT LOSS!"

"Really?" Crowley asked acidly, with a touch of sarcasm. "Who have you lost? A couple Demons to the agents of Heaven before Aziraphale and I were sent up? We created some semblance of peace, and if you were actually sorry over the Demons killed before me, you would've left Aziraphale and I _alone_."

"I DID LEAVE YOU AND AZIRA-"

"_Don't_ even say his name," Crowley hissed. There was something inconsolable in him now, nurtured by the rage and sorrow. The feeling that something could've been done to save him, something Crowley could've done to protect him if they hadn't been so afraid. But Crowley was beyond fear now, and he wanted to be the only one to speak his name, or even think of him because no one else could possibly think of him right. He wasn't just an Angel or Heaven's force on Earth, or even the enemy. So whoever didn't understand him had no right to even speak his name. Whoever couldn't understand the pain of not being able to say a name for fear if it burning his tongue had no right to use the name so easily. And after everything Lucifer caused between them, it sickened Crowley to think of his Angel's name being said so lightly, so casually.

"WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU HAVE ME CALL HIM?" Somehow, the voice seemed softer now.

"You don't have the right to speak of him at all."

There was a long and heavy silence. Crowley was still too angry to be shocked that Lucifer had just _listened_ to him. He, Crowley, had just made the Devil himself fall silent over saying the name of an Angel.

"I DID LEAVE YOU AND-" pause "- YOUR ANGEL ALONE. I SAW, LITTLE DEMON. I SAW EVERYTHING. I KNOW YOU'RE NOT TRULY EVIL AND I KNOW ABOUT YOUR ARRANGEMENT. THE WAY THE TWO OF YOU SAVED THAT GIRL FROM GETTING RAPED, THEN THE WAY YOU LOOKED AT EACH OTHER. THROUGH ALL THESE YEARS, I'VE WATCHED YOU GET CLOSER, AND I HAVE LEFT YOU ALONE."

Crowley scoffed. "As if you would actually let something like that go. Hastur and Ligur told you just before I got here." He knew how his boss worked and he refused to pulled along for the ride.

"THE WAR OF 1812, FRENCH REVOLUTION OF 1789, THE HAITIAN REVOLUTION, THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, JEANNE D'ARC, THE RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN, AND WORLD WAR TWO. I HAVE BEEN WATCHING."

Crowley couldn't think of what to say. That couldn't be right. If either of their bosses had known they had both allowed so many things in history slide... They would both be dead. But Crowley wasn't dead, so maybe Aziraphale wouldn't be either.

"Then he might still be alive," Crowley whispered to himself; relief a crushing weight, but a liberating one. "Is he still alive?" Crowley demanded.

"YOUR ANGEL INDEED LIVES."

"Let me go! I have to find him- he might think I'm dead, he has no idea!"

"I CAN'T DO THAT."

"Why the_ Heaven_ not?! You claim not to care about our arrangement or relationship, so let me go. Leave us alone!"

"I CAN'T DO THAT."

"We won't stop the Apocalypse, I swear," he half-pleaded.

"THEN WHAT GOOD WOULD COME OF RELEASING YOU? YOU WOULD HAVE NO TIME TOGETHER."

"That doesn't matter," Crowley said. "We would have long enough. I just need to tell him something."

"WHAT WOULD THAT BE?"

"For his ears and his ears alone."

"I STILL CAN'T RELEASE YOU."

"For the love of all things profane, _why_?"

The voice sighed. A great whooshing, empty echo around the void. "WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE CREATION OF THE WORLD, LITTLE DEMON?"

"I haven't cared to do much research beyond that God made it." To his surprise, the word 'God' burned his tongue.

"THEN IF YOU STILL WANT TO SEE YOUR ANGEL WHEN I AM DONE SPEAKING, THEN I WILL BRING YOU TO HIM AND YOU CAN BE FREE FROM MY CONTROL."

"No tricks?"

"NO TRICKS."

Crowley sat down and crossed his legs. "Alright," he said. "I'm listening."

"THE OLD RELIGIONS HAVE ONE THING RIGHT, THE WORLD HAS ENDED BEFORE MANY TIMES. THE FIRST TIME, THERE WERE NO PEOPLE, IT WAS A PARADISE THAT ANGELS AND DEMONS LIVED IN TOGETHER. WE KNEW THERE WERE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN US, BUT WE DIDN'T CARE BECAUSE IT DIDN'T MATTER. WE BRED TOGETHER, WE MADE PEOPLE. WE ALL SHARED THE EARTH AND LIVED IN PEACE. BUT ANGELS AND DEMONS DIDN'T QUESTION, AND HUMANS DID. HUMANS DIDN'T SEE IN SHADES OF GREY, THEY LIKE CLASSIFICATION. AND BY THEIR QUESTIONS AND CLASSIFICATIONS, ANGELS AND DEMONS STARTED TO SEE DIFFERENCES AND THERE WAS A WAR.

"THE ANGELS FOUND A LEADER AND SO DID THE DEMONS. PEOPLE WERE STUCK IN THE MIDDLE, BUT IT WASN'T VIOLENT QUITE YET. ANGELS WANTED PEOPLE ON THEIR SIDE, BUT SO DID DEMONS. PEOPLE REFUSED TO TAKE SIDES, SO ANGELS AND DEMONS TRIED TO CHOOSE FOR THEM. AND THAT WAS WHEN THE WAR STARTED. WE DIDN'T MEAN TO, BUT WE ENDED THE WORLD."

"Hold on," Crowley said. "Where were you in all this?"

"HIDING. I HAD NO CHILDREN AND I WANTED NO PART OF THE BLOODSHED."

"Go on."

"IT WAS THE SECOND WORLD. NO PEOPLE SURVIVED. BUT ALL THE ANGELS AND DEMONS DID. WE WERE SAD, SCARED, AND ANGRY. WE BLAMED EACH OTHER, OF COURSE. WHO WOULD WANT TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR ALL THAT DEATH? BUT THOSE OF US WHO HID WANTED TO BELIEVE THAT WE COULD DO BETTER THIS TIME. WE TRIED AGAIN. WE MADE PEOPLE AGAIN. BUT PEOPLE CLASSIFIED AND THERE WAS A WAR AGAIN FROM OLD GRUDGES AND HURTS. SO ENDED THE SECOND WAR."

"Where were you this time?"

"WEEPING. AND THAT'S WHEN I MET HER. SHE WAS AN UNGENDERED ANGEL, BUT SHE REMINDED ME OF A WOMAN WITH HER GRAVE AND KINDNESS, SO THAT IS HOW I REFER TO HER."

Crowley nodded. The older Angels and Demons tended to have no gender. Crowley had always gendered as a male, but Aziraphale was technically ungendered. Back before their arrangement, Aziraphale had a female body a few times, but he preferred to be male.

"THE THIRD TIME AROUND, THE TWO OF US TRIED TO ACT AS PEACEKEEPERS. TO SOME EXTENT, IT WORKED. MOST WERE IN AGREEMENT WITH US, BUT SOME STILL HAD GRUDGES. WE TRIED BUT IT WAS SO MUCH WORSE THAN THE FIRST TWO TIMES. SOME DEMONS FOUGHT FOR ANGELS AND SOME ANGELS FOR DEMONS. WHOEVER WASN'T HARDENED THE FIRST TWO WARS WERE NUMB TO IT AFTER THIS. WE WEREN'T AS YOUNG AS WE ONCE WERE AND WE HAD SEEN TOO MUCH TOO SOON.

"BUT SHE AND I WANTED TO TRY ONE LAST TIME. WE MADE PEOPLE ONCE MORE, TRIED TO SHOW EVERYONE THAT PEACE WAS POSSIBLE. BUT PEOPLE WERE YOUNG AND NO MATCH FOR THESE OLD GRUDGES. EVERYONE TRIED DISCREETLY TO GET PEOPLE ON THEIR SIDE. AND IT WORKED, PEOPLE TOOK SIDES. BY THE TIME THE WORLD ENDED THIS TIME, IT WAS A GAME.

"NEXT TIME, SHE AND I WERE KEPT APART. WE WEREN'T ALLOWED TOGETHER. BUT THEN EVERYONE GOT BORED. THERE WERE PEOPLE AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. SHE AND I GOT NUMBER AND NUMBER AND EVENTUALLY WE STARTED TO RESENT EACH OTHER. THE FACT THAT WE ONCE LOVED EACH OTHER MADE IT WORSE, WE BECAME THE LEADERS OF OUR FACTIONS. WE MADE A SIMPLE ARRANGEMENT. ANGELS AND DEMONS WERE TO BE KEPT APART AND ONE MAN AND ONE WOMAN WOULD BE CHOSEN AND SAVED FOR THE NEXT WORLD-"

"Adam and Eve then?"

"YES. WE WOULD PUT THEM IN PARADISE, A NEUTRAL GROUND, AND SEE WHO COULD INFLUENCE THEM MORE. BITE THE APPLE OR LIVE IN PARADISE? KNOWLEDGE OR BLISSFUL IGNORANCE? WE GOT CREATIVE AFTER AWHILE. RELIGION, FLAMING SWORDS, PROPHETS, SENDING AGENTS TO EARTH. WHEN THAT GOT BORING, WE WOULD TAKE TURNS TRYING TOO GET EACH OTHER'S AGENTS TO SWITCH SIDES. BUT THAT GOT OLD BECAUSE WE WERE SO SET IN OUR WAYS FOR SO LONG THAT NO ONE WOULD SWITCH.

"SHE AND I FELT THAT IT WAS A BATTLE BETWEEN US, SO WE HAD NO QUALMS ABOUT MEMORY WIPING AT THE START OF A NEW WORLD. SHE WIPED HER AGENTS AND I WIPED MINE. THEN WE COULD GET THEM TO SWITCH SIDES. WE WOULD LIE ABOUT THE BEGINNING OF THE WORLD. BUT THE WORLD DIDN'T END WHEN IT WAS SUPPOSED TO THIS TIME. THIS EARTH PROGRESSED SO MUCH FURTHER. ADAM, THE ANTICHRIST, LOVED IT TOO MUCH FOR IT TO END. ONE LITTLE ANGEL AND ONE LITTLE DEMON CARED FOR DIFFERENCES SO LITTLE THAT THEY DIDN'T DO THEIR JOBS. SO THE WORLD CONTINUED. AND I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT, AND I'M SURE SHE DOESN'T EITHER.

"I WAS AIMING TO START ANOTHER APOCALYPSE JUST TO GET A CLEAN SLATE FOR ANOTHER ROUND. BUT THEN I THOUGHT THAT SHE AND I BOTH MUST HAVE SEEN WHAT WAS HAPPENING BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR ANGEL. YET NEITHER OF US DID ANYTHING TO STOP IT.

"I WILL LET YOU GO IF YOU WANT TO LEAVE, NOW THAT YOU KNOW THE FUTILITY OF IT ALL. DO YOU WISH TO LEAVE OR HAVE YOUR MEMORY WIPED NOW?"

It was a lot to take in. Almost too much. But it made sense. And it changed nothing. All that mattered in this moment was that Aziraphale probably really was still alive. And if he was, then Crowley wanted to find him before he did something stupid- like ending the world because he thought Crowley was dead.

"Send me to wherever he is. With a body. This body. No tricks."

"I WAS HOPING YOU WOULD SAY THAT. I WILL. JUST ONE MORE THING. THIS IS OPTIONAL."

Crowley narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What?"

* * *

Soooooo... Do you guys have any idea of what I'm getting at yet? I'll give you a hint: You actually have no idea. You may think you do, but you don't. You poor poor souls have no idea what you have gotten yourselves into and I hope I've roped you in enough for you guys to get some feels or something.

Even though you don't know what you're in for, I'd love to hear your theories.

Where do you think I'm going with this? (If I like your theory, I may tweak something.)

Oh, and, I'll reply to all reviewers.


	10. End of the World Scenarios

**End of the World Scenarios**

Aziraphale took awhile to figure out where he was. He was supposed to be back in Anathema's house, but he seemed to be in a red desert with no sun, stars, or moon. It wasn't hot or cold; just endless desolate sand. Crowley had described it to him before. So there was a nice little (halfway-decent) bar if he walked toward the mountain in the distance. He knew that Crowley would find him. After what Metatron told him on God's behalf, he was sure that Crowley was still alive.

"_Why isn't she speaking to me herself?" he had asked. Metatron had shrugged._

"_I think she's been silent for so long that she's forgotten how."_

Aziraphale wasn't too worried. This whole Heaven and Hell thing seemed so petty now. No one knew. There were five beings in the world who knew; including Metatron and assuming Crowley now knew as well.

Aziraphale spotted the bar. More like a little run-down shack that serves questionable liquor. He stepped in. Yup. Shady and questionable. But a drink is a drink.

"Could I get a whiskey please? On the rocks, thanks."

"Huh," said the bartender.

"Yes, yes, I'm not a Demon. But could I get that drink anyway please?"

He shrugged and said, "Sure."

He slid the drink along the bar and Aziraphale stopped it expertly.

The bartender grinned and said, "So, an Angel walks into a bar and orders a whiskey."

Aziraphale paused with the drink halfway to his mouth, "Is there a punchline?"

"I dunno. You tell me."

With a flash of light, Crowley appeared in the seat next to him.

"Oh. Hi Crowley," the bartender said, as if this was a fairy regular occurrence.

Crowley looked at him blankly. "That blessed, lying, cheating bastard."

"I never knew your eyes were green," Aziraphale said idly.

Crowley realised he was there and they found themselves hugging. Neither was sure who started it but they smoothed each other's hair and ran their hands through each other's feathers. Being slightly taller, Aziraphale rested his cheek against the top of his head and Crowley unashamedly nuzzled into Aziraphale's neck.

The bartender didn't know what to do, so he put another whiskey on the bar and looked on with concern. What _exactly_ were they doing? Elaborate ruse to kill each other? Silent warfare?

"'Ziraphale," Crowley muttered, muffled.

"Just let me, this is far overdue."

Crowley grumbled faintly, but he allowed it.

When Aziraphale finally released him, they linked hands. They both sort of reached at the same time without really even looking at each other. Crowley hoped that this wouldn't become specific to end-of-the-world scenarios, because he could really stand for doing this more often.

"So, who's a bastard?" Aziraphale asked. "Besides me."

Crowley chuckled and replied, "My boss. He was supposed to bring me to you and I didn't see y- Why are you in Hell? Angels can't get into Hell."

Aziraphale shrugged. "Accident. Bad timing and I fell in after you."

"Ahh... Well er- since you're not dead, did your boss tell you about..." he glanced at the bartender "...it?"

"Yes. I'm glad I don't have to explain it all to you. So what do we do now?"

"Glad you asked, Angel. Come on."

Crowley pulled him out of the bar, still holding his hand.

The bartender looked after them, then down at the abandoned whiskey. He drained both glasses then sat down to take in what he just witnessed.

"So an Angel walks into a bar and orders a whiskey." He paused, waiting for someone to ask for the rest.

Conveniently, a Demon walks in at that moment. "Oh good, I could use a joke."

The bartender leaned over the bar eagerly as his customer sat down.

"I'm glad you're sitting for this one mate," he said with a grin.

"Alright, lay it on me."

"An Angel walks into a bar and orders a whiskey..."

"...And?" he leaned forward as well, one Demon sharing the very secret of the universe with another.

"And he left holding hands with a Demon."

The bartender looked at the Demon who looked back at him. The Demon looked at the bartender who was looking at him.

The Demon giggled. And again. Then he laughed doubled over in the barstool. The bartender laughed as well, both of them laughing even harder for it. They laughed until tears of mirth fell onto the bar and both were left with red faces.

"That was _good_," the Demon gasped.

"Came up with it myself," he said proudly.

"I'll have to use that."

Another Demon walked in. "Hey guys, what's so funny?"

* * *

Anathema and Newt sat unamusedly. Envy and Gluttony stared at the T.V with baited breath. Sloth did a combination of a jiggle and a wobble. War and Famine unconsciously leaned closer. Metatron was a tense buzz.

"_He is_ not_ the father._"

Everyone groaned.

"Look at him!" Envy shouted, "How can he not be the father?! Look at those eyes! Obviously he has his father's eyes! I want those eyes!" And her eyes promptly turned a startlingly bright shade of blue. She smiled smugly.

"Bullshit," Gluttony said, triple chins swaying with the effort. "Absolute bullshit. Hey pass the crisps."

"You ate them all you insufferable asswipe," War said acidly.

"I wipe no one's ass but my own," Gluttony retorted.

"Barely," Anathema muttered.

Newt chuckled as silently as was possible for him- which was to say not at all. And Sloth made a few shluping noises in agreement.

"WHAT'S THE JOKE?" Metatron asked.

"Well," said a recently arrived Angel, with his hand linked to a Demon's, "An Angel walks into a bar and orders a whiskey."

All eyes in the room swivelled to them (and in Sloth's case, he sort of flopped half-heartedly toward them), and the occupants shouted a chorus of "Crowley!" and "Aziraphale!" The latter followed by an "ow" for those who forgot it would burn.

No one was sure why anyone was happy to see them. Well, Metatron was happy to see that he wouldn't have to explain what happened to Aziraphale to his boss, but the Horsemen and the Sins were supposed to be mad at Crowley for ditching them and concerned that Aziraphale was now with him. Upon realising this, they all looked at each other in concern.

"Too much daytime television?" Envy suggested.

"No such thing," Gluttony said.

"I'm so sick of soap operas," War said.

"Maybe _that's_ why we're so excited," Envy reasoned, "Proper romance."

Crowley and Aziraphale simultaneously coughed and looked at the floor.

"Awww," Famine said weakly.

"Why are you all even here?" Crowley asked.

"Waiting for you," War said.

"Oh," Said Crowley.

"Does this mean you're all leaving now?" Anathema asked hopefully.

"Sorry, my dear, but no. They won't be much longer though, we just need to have a word with my boss."

"Fine, but all of you are lucky the world is ending or you wouldn't be staying any longer."

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale mentioned that the Apocalypse hadn't been so much ended as cancelled.

"NEED A LIFT?" Metatron offered.

"What are you doing here?" Aziraphale asked.

"... IMPORTANT END-OF-THE-WORLD STUFF."

"Jerry Springer was on," Anathema clarified.

"You guys get that rubbish here?" Crowley asked.

Newt shrugged. "I think it has something to do with Wrath. He likes it. We suddenly got it after he showed up."

"Was that you or me?" Aziraphale mused.

"I think we both claimed the success."

"Ahh, yes."

Metatron cleared his non-existent throat. "ARE WE GOING?"

"Oh, you don't want to finish your program?" Anathema asked.

"NO, BUT THANK YOU," he replied. The sarcasm was lost on him.

Anathema rolled her eyes. "No problem."

"Allons-y," Crowley said.

The last thing the room's occupants saw of the was Aziraphale giving Crowley a bewildered look.

"Did... Did he just make a Doctor Who reference?" Newt asked.

Anathema and Envy shrugged.

Then Envy sighed. "I wish I had a love like theirs." She looked around expectantly, then slumped disappointedly when a suitor failed to appear.

"Do you really think Below started Doctor Who?" Famine asked.

"Probably," War replied. "That's the stuff that steals your soul, you know."

Famine nodded sagely.

"Hold on," Newt began. "They never told us the punchline."

* * *

Crowley didn't find himself as sickened by Heaven as he thought he would be. Clouds surrounded them- more of a dense fog, really. A dense fog that seemed to absorb and radiate yellow-orange light. IT was pretty, but there was no way anyone could be expected to see.

"Angel, I can't see a blessed thing."

"I know where we're going, follow me."

"Is it always like this?"

"What other way is there to be?"

They turned a corner and continued walking.

"I don't know. Ha! No wonder you never spoke about up here, there's nothing to see!"

Aziraphale tried to refrain from rolling his eyes, and he succeeded.

"Oh, come on, Angel. I'm hilarious and you know it."

Before Aziraphale would have to refrain from another eye-roll, they reached a door (Crowley stumbled _into_ it), and stepped into an empty room with high stained glass walls and an endless ceiling. The figures in the glass were depicting the true origins of Earth. The-story-so-far for this eternity.

"YOU'VE COME BACK," Metatron said, speaking for God.

"Of course we did," Aziraphale said.

"HOW DID YOU GET A DEMON IN HERE?"

"Same way I got in?"

"INTERESTING. DEMON?"

His throat suddenly dry, he asked, "Yes?" then added, "Please don't smite me." The hands still holding his tightened protectively.

"let me hear you say his name," a small, weak, exhausted- sounding voice said.

"His name?" Crowley gestured to Aziraphale.

"yes, your angel's name."

"Aziraphale," Crowley said. Still no burn.

"now you, little angel."

"Crowley."

There was a long and heavy pause.

"Angel," Crowley muttered, "Why did she just-"

"I told her she had no right to use either of our names."

"Ah."

"i assume you know, little demon."

"Yes, I do."

"then you know what your angel is here to do."

"Yes."

"do you swear to catch him?"

"Yes."

"and hold him after?"

"Yes."

"do you swear?"

"I do."

With a flash of light, heat, and pure terror, they were back in Anathema's living room. Aziraphale was clinging to Crowley with the kind of desperation specific to dying men and apparently Fallen Angels. He was shaking, so Crowley picked him up and looked at the five Horsemen, six Sins, and two humans smushed into the small living room.

"'Scuse us," he said to the thirteen curious onlookers.

And with that, he miracled the two of them to Soho, England.

* * *

Sorry about the wait, I like to be pretty far ahead in the story before I post something new. That way, if I have to go back and change something, it won't be a huge pain in your ass or mine.

If I don't update with at least one chapter tomorrow night, you can expect another two or maybe even three the day after tomorrow.

Thanks for the patience guys!

P.S: You still have no idea what's going on. Again, you may think you do, but you don't.


	11. Breathe

**Breathe**

Crowley was prepared to be here for awhile. He had known he would be here for awhile, and he was finding it more and more that he was entirely okay with it.

It was rough at first. Really really bad, and for a time, Crowley feared that Aziraphale wouldn't make it. Aziraphale had actually cried. Crowley had never seen him cry. It was unnerving. His Angel cried softly into his chest for a day or so. Crowley hadn't known quite what to do, so he patted his hair and offered him tissues and whispered soothingly to him in the oldest languages he knew. Or he did until he realized Aziraphale couldn't understand him anymore.

After that, Crowley pulled a blanket over the both of them, encased Aziraphale in his wings, and told him to sleep. Aziraphale did eventually doze off, still holding on and sometimes muttering intelligible things. Sometimes muttering just audibly: "I'm sorry, so sorry. Forgive me. I'm sorry..."

But Crowley kept on soothing and didn't lost patience. If Aziraphale needed to do this to adjust, then Crowley could wait.

At some point he remembered that Aziraphale would need something to eat. IT must be strange to feel hunger and thirst, heat and cold, Aziraphale could get sick He actually needed to do things like sleep and eat and drink and stay clean or he would get sick. He could possibly _die._ People just dropped dead, or died of bizarre accidents. Heart attacks, strokes, slipping, stumbling. The entire world was the enemy. How could he protect Aziraphale from that? He couldn't. Not a blessed ting he could do.

What if Aziraphale was dying right now?

He promptly shook Aziraphale awake. "Angel, hey."

He panicked when Aziraphale didn't stir. "Aziraphale, wake up."

Aziraphale opened deep blue eyes and reflected Crowley's concern. "What's wrong?"

"Don't die," Crowley said sternly.

"My dear, I had no intention. I just want to sleep." And with that, he sunk back down under the covers.

Crowley lazily draped a wing over him, but couldn't help but ask, "Are you hungry?"

"Only a bit," Aziraphale murmured, eyes remaining closed.

"Thirsty?"

"Yes, but don't really care at the moment."

"Are you in pain?"

Aziraphale sighed, opened up his eyes, and said, "It did, now everything just tingles. Nerves adjusting." Then he pulled the covers over his head and firmly settled down.

Crowley quickly pulled the covers back. "Careful, you could suffocate."

Aziraphale looked at him in disbelief.

"What?" Crowley asked.

"You're _concerned_."

"Well... _Yeah_."

"Crowley dear, I'm touched. Really. But I'm fine. Nothing hurts and if I need something, I'll tell you. Just let me sleep."

"Fine," Crowley grumbled. And he did most certainly _not_ grumble because Aziraphale caught him being concerned. "Not under the covers," he added.

"Yes, under the covers."

"You need to _breathe_."

"Yes, I do. So let me sleep," he said gently.

Crowley got it. A subtle way to say 'stop worrying, I'm fine'. He couldn't fight with the blankets, oxygen, or Aziraphale, so he would have to let it go. Just like he would have to learn to let things like knives and stairs and crossing streets go. It was also a way of saying 'Keep treating me like I'm delicate, and I will find a way to injure you'. It was all about the subtlety.

So Crowley settled back in beside his Angel. Once he was sure he was soundly asleep (and still breathing), he made a phone call.

* * *

"_Hi Anathema, hi Newt,"_ Crowley said.

"How's he doing?" Anathema asked.

"_Alright, I think. He keeps saying he's not hungry, but he needs to eat, so could you tell one of the Horsemen to go talk to my boss so my boss can tell them to get McDonald's or something?"_

She glanced at the Horsemen and Sins, still glued to the daytime television. "Any preference as to which one?"

"_... Pollution."_

"Are you sure? He's a little..."

"_Well, War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death aren't coming anywhere near him."_

"They haven't affected us."

"_You've been Human longer._"

"Fair enough. Okay, I'll send him... Are they leaving any time soon?"

"_After we go and talk to my boss."_

"Right."

"_Sorry_."

"Tell him I say hi!" Adam shouted from between Famine and War.

"Adam says hi."

"_What's Adam doing there?"_

"No idea, he just showed up... Sort of like you guys."

"_Sorry_," Crowley said again.

She sighed. "It's alright, I suppose. Newt is enjoying himself."

"_Is he?"_

"He finally found people to watch soap operas with. Well, get mad over soap operas with."

"_Oh."_

"Alright, I'll send Pollution."

"_Okay."_

"Bye."

"_Bye_."

* * *

Pollution did not often skip. He was not skipping now. If he was allowed to have Pestilence with him, then he might be happier. But Pestilence was not with him. And he did not know how to go about ordering McDonald's. Maybe Despair would know. Despair stayed in America because no one seemed to like Despair and Despair actually didn't really like any of them either. It was strange. Everyone got along for the most part Except Greed and Envy. They'd kill each other.

But Despair gave him the creeps. It was like Despair went of of its way to be Depressed as some sort of statement. He tried to find reasons to be depressed and drag everyone else down into Depression as well. And if he couldn't be dragged down, Despair would suck him dry of sympathy and compassion, then leave the cold unfeeling husk of the person he once was.

Pollution shuddered at imagining the state of the Americans people right then. They must really not be doing well since Pestilence and Famine were helping.

It was looking rather empty and scarce around there. And that's saying something considering that he was in New York City. Everyone must be hiding out inside. He almost kind of hoped that was the case because he didn't want the world to end. The more he thought about it, the more he realised it. He would be so bored without people.

So, naturally, he was thrilled when his boss told him to tell Despair that the Apocalypse was cancelled. Then he had to bring McDonald's to Soho, then he had to go back to the ex-witch's house and tell War to cancel what he started in the Middle East.

There would be a happy ending and Aziraphale and Crowley could be together forever and ever. As Pollution thought about it, he started skipping. He quite liked skipping. He made a mental note to do it more often.

"Despair~!" he called out cheerily.

"What?"a faintly angry voice worth pitying asked.

"We're all done! Boss says it's over. No more Apocalypse!"

It started raining, of course. Why would it not rain at such a time?

"I-I can't stop," the voice replied, over-doing it on the stutter.

"Sure you can!" Pollution said, determined to remain cheerful.

"But where else can I go?"

"No idea. But no more Apocalypse here. It's been cancelled, like I said."

"But this is what I'm designed to do. There's nothing else for me."

"Look Despair, I'm in the same boat. I've practically been kicked out of Canada and most of the E.U. I'm dying I've had a good run. It's just time to let the world move on." Pollution saddened the longer he lingered on the thought. "That's no the worst though... I'm part of what's keeping Pestilence alive. He'll start dying too, soon enough. And it's horrible..."

"Tell me about it," Despair said softly.

Pollution found salty tears mixing with the streaks of grime on his face. "I'm going to die," he whispered. "And then Pestilence is going to die, and there's no chance that we can survive..."

"Come here," Despair said.

Pollution went to embrace Despair.

* * *

Pestilence bent over in a coughing fit, the rain not helping his lungs any. The air smelled strangely clean though. That made him feel even sicker.

"He's gone," the voice of Despair said.

"Touched him, did you?"

"He wanted it."

"I know how you operate, Despair. You're always going to say that."

"What are you doing here?"

"I didn't realise he was visiting you alone," Pestilence wheezed.

"So you came after him?"

"Of course I did."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _Oh_. Come here."

"What are you going to do?" Despair asked suspiciously.

"Nothing. Just come here."

Suddenly, Despair understood.

Despair took Pestilence's outstretched hand.

* * *

"LITTLE DEMON," Lucifer said through Crowley's phone speakers.

Crowley scrambled to pick it up, then nearly dropped it in the tea cup he was carrying to the couch. The rush to pick it up was the remaining instinct to remain as quiet as possible so as to not wake Aziraphale. But he seemed okay now. Better than okay, actually. He seemed no different than before. Minus the occasional gasp for air as he forgot he had to breathe now. However, he was healthy and seemed no worse for the wear, so Crowley tried to send his worries away.

"Hello?" he said into the tiny receiver. He wedged in between his shoulder and his ear to bring the kettle and cup over to Aziraphale.

"HAS POLLUTION RETURNED?"

"Not that we've heard."

"I SENT HIM TO DESPAIR TO TELL HIM TO CANCEL THE APOCALYPSE BEFORE HE BROUGHT YOU SOMETHING TO EAT. HE HASN'T CHECKED IN."

"Oh," Crowley said.

"I'M GOING TO CALL ANATHEMA AND ASK PESTILENCE WHERE HE WENT."

"Okay."

"BYE."

"Bye."

Crowley hung up.

"You're awfully nontalkative on the phone," Aziraphale commented, sipping the tea.

"That was my old boss and monosyllabic answers are a hard habit to break."

"He seems different than what you've said of him."

Crowley shrugged. "He _is_ different. But that's a recent thing."

Aziraphale idly swirled some dregs of tea leaves around the bottom of his cup. Tea tasted better now. "Do you think he's trying to make amends?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Crowley shrugged again.

Aziraphale shifted over to make room for Crowley on the couch beside him. Crowley sat down and rested his arm across the top of the couch. Another old habit. His arm bumped the back of Aziraphale's head and he froze slightly. He mentally smacked his forehead. _You just spent almost three days practically snuggling with him, and you're worried about your arm touching him?!_

"Crowley," Aziraphale said softly.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, retracting his arm.

"Hm? No, I just need to talk to you about something." He looked adamantly down into his empty cup.

As if those words were any more comforting.

"Uh, yeah, sure. What about?"

Aziraphale continued gazing into his cup.

"Aziraphale?"

"When you went to see your boss, I'm sure you thought he was going to kill you, so why did you go?"

"...I'm sure you can figure it out."

"Don't be like that," Aziraphale said. "If something ever happens to me, carry on. Now that I'm human, and you soon will be, we'll probably have to face the fact that either of us could die at any time. So if anything happens to me, carry on."

"Don't ask me to do that."

"Crowley-"

"You _can't_ ask me to do that."

"Crowley, please."

They just looked at each other. Aziraphale was silently pleading and Crowley was silently defiant.

But Crowley understood, as he always did. He probably would've asked the same of Aziraphale. How did humans do it? Find the strength to carry on? After everything that happens to them, somehow, they find a way to pick up and move on. Maybe he could understand it better once he was human himself.

"Only if you promise too," Crowley said firmly.

Aziraphale hesitated, but nodded.

Crowley nodded as well.

"After this then?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded again.


End file.
